


The Play's The Thing

by Fyre



Series: A Little Kindness [6]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Slow Show - mia_ugly
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22911481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: His heart had thudded against his ribs when he saw the article in The Times. Isherwood, a famous – no, infamous – critic had attended that tucked away little play in its warehouse. He had written it up, a glorious full-page spread with a dazzling photograph of Hamlet and Ophelia locked in an embrace, clinging to one another for a brief shining moment.Crowley, it seemed, could indeed work a miracle.
Series: A Little Kindness [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628107
Comments: 38
Kudos: 165
Collections: Slow Show Metaverse





	The Play's The Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mia_ugly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia_ugly/gifts).



Sometimes, Avery finds himself wondering what kind of idiot he is.

Oh yes, at the time, it had seemed so very subtle to invite Crowley to join him for oysters – fruits de la mer, purely a little luxury, nothing at _all_ to do with any other properties they had. What’s an aphrodisiac or two between friends? – and then to see a play – beautifully and heart-breakingly queer and lovely, something he wished he could have been bold enough to do when he was still young enough for it.

Subtle.

Sex and sexuality offered on a shining platter in a bustling streets in Brooklyn, second only to the West Village for historical reputation.

And there he’d sat with his hand on the arm of the man he was trying very not to fall utterly in love with.

And then… and then afterwards, warmed by tea and cheesecake and the glow of Crowley’s presence, he had so very nearly put his foot in it. _They really are doing such interesting things with the characters, don’t you think?_

A wild, wilful, proud heir to a dynasty, seen as a disappointment by his friends and family, distrusted and dangerous. Ophelia, desperately and recklessly in love with him, but forbidden by the very society that has turned on Hamlet, forced to reject him, despite wanting nothing more than to love him. The faltering start of their relationship utterly destroyed by the world they have been born into.

Oh, Lord, in a democracy of idiots, he would have been elected the King Fool.

Still, Crowley had seemed to enjoy it without reading too much into it, even offering to see what he could do about the play, but then Crowley offered kindness so easily to him. Daft little things. An unexpected bar of chocolate waiting for him in his trailer. A poem Crowley had seen in a paper sent in a text. The little pauses he got them during the more intense shooting sessions.

Still, Avery didn’t imagine much could be done for the little production. It was too out of the way, as good as it was.

And then…

And then…

His heart had thudded against his ribs when he saw the article in _The Times_. Isherwood, a famous – no, infamous – critic had attended that tucked away little play in its warehouse. He had written it up, a glorious full-page spread with a dazzling photograph of Hamlet and Ophelia locked in an embrace, clinging to one another for a brief shining moment.

Crowley, it seemed, could indeed work a miracle.

He dug out his phone at once, knocking off a message with a snap of the page. [did you do this???]

“You all right, love?”

Avery glanced across the table at Tracy, who was buttering a bit of toast. “What?”

“Any reason for the dopey grin?”

He laughed self-consciously. “You remember that play I saw in New York?”

“The Hamlet one?”

He folded the newspaper and handed it over to her. “I think it might run a bit longer.”

Tracy chewed thoughtfully on her toast as she read it. “Isn’t Isherwood that bloke… the pretentious one? Met him that one time. Woolly vest thing. Glasses on a chain?”

“He is a bit,” Avery agreed, “but his word is gospel when it comes to the theatre scene.”

She nodded, munching on, turning the paper over. “Blimey. He must’ve really liked it.”

Avery beamed. “And very well-deserved it is too,” he said. “I didn’t think Anthony would manage it.”

Tracy peered over the paper at him. “What’s he got to do with the price of fish?”

“Oh.” Avery prayed he wasn’t blushing. “He saw it when he was over. With me. Said he would put in a word, see if he could stir up a bit of interest.”

“Ah.” Tracy handed the paper back to him. “Yeah, he’s probably got contacts coming out the wazoo.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Mind you, Isherwood doesn’t seem the type to go and see something out of the goodness of his heart. Wonder what Anthony’s offered. Firstborn or kidney, d’you think?”

That… hadn’t even occurred to Avery and he _really_ didn’t want to ask in case…

Well, in case it was something dreadful.

Several days later, the answer showed up in a smaller article, a brief interview with Anthony about being ‘Out in Hollywood’. Avery almost wished the ground would swallow him up for that, for asking and receiving and never once imagining the price would be a little of poor Crowley’s carefully-guarded privacy.

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from devouring every word, even smiling crookedly at Crowley’s alleged celebrity crush. Of course he would know how to dance around the questions, giving answer enough in one way to avoid answering too much in another.

Avery ran his thumb down the edge of the text, gazing at it. Crowley must have enjoyed the play, he thought, if he was willing to uncover a little himself, exposing himself to the world that had picked at his bones for years. A brave gesture and so very kind, sacrificing a little of himself for the benefit of others like him.

He picked up his phone and tapped a message, sending it before he could change his mind. [Thank you. I know you probably hated every moment of that]

A single symbol came back from Crowley [?]

Avery took a picture of the article. [For Hamlet?]

Dots appeared and disappeared as Crowley did, then didn’t, then did, then didn’t write a message. Fifteen minutes later, he finally responded [As I do live, my honour’d lord, tis true.]

Avery hid a smile behind his hand, wondering at the warm affection blooming through him. Still he couldn’t help himself. [You had to find a copy of the play to check the quote, didn’t you? That’s why it took you so long for your witty reply.]

[piss off angel]

[thank you, darling]

Still smiling, Avery sat back in his seat, gazing down at the interview. Selling his soul on a silver platter to save a play he had only seen once. Who wouldn’t love a man like that?


End file.
